


First Touch

by MarieBoheme



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, F/M, Fluff, Gift Fic, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Romance, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:29:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28538856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarieBoheme/pseuds/MarieBoheme
Summary: His hands were soft–much softer than she would have imagined for a man who wielded a sword and spent so much time in combat. Not that she’d imagined it.(Or, at least, that's what she tells herself.)Written for Final Heaven's Secret Santa Exchange.
Relationships: Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife
Comments: 14
Kudos: 70





	First Touch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheStrawberryQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStrawberryQueen/gifts).



> Happy New Year! Wasn't sure whether I should post this, but I figured - why not? 
> 
> This one-shot was written for Final Heaven's Secret Santa Exchange as a gift for Ophe/Rose. The prompt I decided to go with was "You have warm hands", and it inspired this fluffy mess.

No matter how much time passes, Tifa doubts she’ll ever forget the first time she felt the sensation of Cloud’s bare hands on her skin.

It happened not long after they’d left Midgar, along the road to Kalm. While the others set up camp for the night, Cloud and Tifa were put in charge of scouring the surrounding area for firewood and other supplies. As they navigated the thickets, Tifa had just begun to think to herself that they’d lucked out in managing to avoid getting into any fights since wandering from camp when they were distracted by the sound of sharp cries in their periphery. 

“Drake’s nest,” Cloud explained. They instantly assumed a defensive stance, standing back-to-back so they could see an attack coming from any angle. 

A party of half a dozen drakes descended on them. Working together, they managed to dispatch the majority of the beasts rather quickly, until only the two largest and more intimidating of the group remained. Her guard must have fallen as the fight progressed, overconfident from having defeated much more intimidating foes in recent memory. Too focused on the offensive, with little consideration for the defense, she’d left herself wide open, too open on one side. 

Her inattention got the better of her, and she’d failed to avoid a swipe of one drake’s claws as it zeroed in on her. Pain radiated through one side of her body as the beast made contact, a panicked and guttural cry escaping her as she stumbled from the force of the blow.

Staggering backwards, Tifa pivoted to face her attacker, both her fists flying to chest level as she assumed a defensive stance. She caught just a glimpse of the drake’s snarl before another figure filled her field of vision–a flesh of blond and black, followed by the downward slice of Cloud’s buster sword. The tattered body of the monster hit the ground with a resounding thump, the ensuing silence letting her know that he was the last of the group.

“You okay?” Cloud asked, turning to face her as he swung his sword back in place. His gaze narrowed on her shoulder, now covered by Tifa’s hands as she attempted to temper the bleeding. Although she couldn’t see the wound for herself at this angle, the blood trickling down her arm hinted at its severity.

Before she could respond, Cloud had practically teleported to her side. “This looks bad, Tifa.” An uncharacteristic panic colored his tone. “Sit down, let me take a look.”

“I’m fine,” she argued, albeit unconvincingly. Although she was tempted to brush off his concern, the blood loss coupled with the mounting pain was getting to her, preventing her from remaining standing. So instead, she allowed him to maneuver her until she was sitting cross-legged on a patch of grass, Cloud’s form looming behind her. 

“I’m sure it looks worse than it really is,” she tried to reassure him, her body betraying her as she winced and curled in on herself at his touch.

“Just give me a second, I’ll take care of it.” There was the sound of rustling and clanking metal behind her. Tifa attempted to maneuver her head to get a better look at what he was doing, but instantly regretted it when a burst of pain shot through her side. Her attention remained focused straight ahead. 

Without warning, she felt the touch of something bitingly cold press itself against her skin, letting out a yelp at the unexpected sensation. 

“Sorry,” Cloud mumbled sheepishly from behind her. “It’s just the materia. Should have said something first.”

They sat in silence as they waited for the magic to take effect, the pain in her side slowly ebbing away until all that remained was a dull ache that she was hoping would mostly disappear by the morning. 

“I think that’s it.” Her skin tingled as he pulled the materia away from her shoulder. “Let me just make sure it’s all sealed.”

As he leaned in closer, that’s when she felt it. Where she expected the rough texture of leather, instead there was the soft touch of skin at the junction of her neck and shoulder. While the healing materia had been jarring because of the sudden cold, the feeling of Cloud’s bare hands was similarly startling, but in a different way–in a way that she couldn’t quite put into words. 

The feeling of it was so unexpected, so foreign, that she flinched involuntarily at the contact. It wasn’t as if Cloud hadn’t touched her before–often, within battle, they would pull each other out of harm’s way. She remembered him cradling her in his arms at the top of the Sector 7 pillar when they’d failed to stop the plate’s collapse. He’d even hugged her outside of Aerith’s house not long afterwards, in an attempt to comfort her during one of her lowest, most guilt-ridden moments. But during each of these instances, his hands had been covered by his gloves (had ever even _seen_ him take them off? He even slept in them, as far as she could tell), creating a firm barrier between them. A barrier that, as far as she could recall, he was shedding in that moment for the first time.

In response to her visible reaction, Cloud instantly retracted his hand from her shoulder. “Shit, did I hurt you?”

“N-no,” she stammered, unsure of why she suddenly sounded so nervous. “It’s just… your hands…”

There was a beat of silence. Although she still couldn’t see his face, she could vividly imagine his brow furrowing in confusion at her choice of words. 

“... My hands?”

Tifa was glad she was staring ahead, so he couldn’t see the way her cheeks had begun to flush from embarrassment at the absurdity of the entire exchange. 

“They’re, um, warm,” she offered lamely. She felt like a schoolgirl, wishing she could run to her room and scream into her pillow. “W-without your gloves, I mean. It was just a little unexpected.”

“Oh.” There was another pause. As Tifa struggled to think of how to move on from the awkwardness of the moment, he continued, “They were full of drake guts. Didn’t think it was a good idea to handle your injury with them on.”

“T-that makes sense.” To her great frustration, she couldn’t quite shake off the uneven edge to her reply. Why was she so flustered to begin with? Perhaps she could chalk it up as a side effect of the blood loss.

“Can I take a look now?” he asked. Although she couldn’t be sure without being able to see his expression, based on the change in his tone she could have sworn that his previous confusion had been replaced by a hint of amusement. The heat in her cheeks intensified as she managed a quick nod.

Although she fully expected the sensation this time, it still took all her effort to hold back a shudder when his hands returned to her shoulder. His touch was more careful than before, the pad of his thumb pressing against where she’d been wounded to confirm her injury was fully closed. Despite the caution in his movements, the slight pressure was still painful as he handled her tender skin. 

Even so, Tifa wasn’t bothered by the pain, still focused on just how warm his hands were–not just warm, but soft. Much softer than she would have imagined for a man who wielded a sword and spent so much time in combat. 

Not that she’d imagined it. Or, at least, she didn’t think she had. Her mind had regressed into a jumbled mess, and she couldn’t wait to be done with their errand and back at camp, so she could clear her head. Hopefully, she would have the chance to regain her composure before she faced Aerith, who she was certain would be able to pick on her flustered state, and would no doubt pester her endlessly about it. It was unnerving how perceptive the Cetran could be. There was no fooling her. 

“Everything looks okay,” Cloud said, finally breaking the long silence. “The materia seems to have taken care of the worst of it. Aerith should take a closer look just to be sure. And you’ll need to clean the blood off when we get back.” 

Looking down at herself, she noticed that her side was in fact covered in half-dried blood. That would be quite the hassle to get rid of later. 

Cloud jumped to his feet, offering her a hand so she could get up from off the ground, which she readily accepted. While her fingertips made contact with his, her own gloves kept her from feeling the full sensation of his hand clasped around hers. She couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Still, warmth radiated along her fingers wherever their skin did make contact, just as it had when he was looking over her injured shoulder. 

Even after she was on her feet, Cloud’s hold on her hand lingered for longer than it needed to. Now that they were facing each other, for the first time since he’d began to tend to her wound, Tifa hoped that the color had mostly faded from her cheeks. 

“Ready to keep moving?” he asked, studying her face with an expression that she couldn’t quite decipher–a common occurrence since they’d reconnected in Midgar. Even as they grew closer, Cloud’s thoughts and feelings often remained a mystery to her. 

Tifa nodded. The corner of his lips curved upwards, betraying the slightest hint of a smile before he finally released her hand. She fought the urge to continue holding onto him as he turned to continue leading them through the thicket. 

For the rest of the night, Tifa failed to shake the memory of Cloud’s touch from her mind—how warm his fingers had felt dancing along her shoulder, the heat emanating from his hands like a brand against her skin. To her great horror, her own mind betrayed her throughout the evening, imagining future scenarios in which she might get to experience that feeling once again. 

_(Would it take much effort to rope Aerith into convincing him to discard those gloves of his more often, under the guise of being more comfortable? It was probably worth a try...)._

The memory of those hands would be the death of her, she was sure of it. And there was only so long she could blame her flustered state of mind on blood loss. 

She would just have to live in denial for a little longer. 


End file.
